I am becoming so copiously fed-up with being the youngest daughter. When at last I am treated asa responsible adult (if ever) I'm sure i wont know how to react. Much better to begin my reactivity training now before my patience, waxing ever thinner over a hard core of bubble-gum pink childishness, fades into the background. In Cathrine Called Birdy, brother Edward pronounces that his youngest sibling will grow more mature with the keeping of a diary, but I have found that this keeping causes me only to refelct upon my unfortunate state of perpetual immaturity. My entries no great cause and no one save myself and those i choose to wind around my little finger, and I have learned nothing from my self-imposed biographical endevors except that I am frivolous in nature. So what is the knowlege of a deseise without its understanding and subsequent cure? How do I face my immaturity in the lists or court? Reason is law unto itself, but my reason is reason enough to combat law! So where am I left? Alone and unafraid but daunted? Right back where began this vicious circle.